“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I can’t make a connection. I have nothing to give to you.” As I spoke, I gestured to the divination tools in front of me. Cards, notched sticks, and marked stones lay in lovely patterns that would surely appeal to someone’s sense of aesthetic.
The client, a youthful appearing white woman in her mid-30s, had claimed to have no knowledge of divination tools other than what popular movies had used as props. The way her eyes scanned over the cast items spoke more than what the tools themselves were saying. She was inferring her own meaning in the items. Her lips pressed as her understanding gave her information she did not want to receive. I waited for the argument to start.
“I see.” She shifted slightly on her floor cushion. The layers of black lace and satin snagged on each other. I could taste the play of static. “Have you exhausted all of your methods of communication?” Continue reading “Punch In, Punch Out”
While I was chilling at home with absolutely no fucks to be had or given, an acquaintance calls me. He’s participating in an on-site group ritual and their contracted seer called them with a last second extortion attempt raise in price that was above and beyond what the group was willing to pay. If I were to be paid the original amount (a sum that caught my attention for sure), would I be willing to drop everything and come over to be the seer for the night?
“Before I let my greed completely blind me… that’s a lot of goddamn money for a one-night show that’s not even guaranteed. What are you not telling me?” Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-12-03”
A normal boring dream! Excuse me while I weep in happiness. Well, it started out as a normal boring dream. A music festival set in some place where music festivals are held on the regular.
But of course, something happens, and things change. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-07-22.01”
So I told myself I wasn’t going to post about this recurring dream/nightmare/experience, because it’s not like anyone would be able to understand or grok what can not be expressed in words but can only be experienced. And as if the recurring portion wasn’t bad enough, a thing happened that may end the series, but without the unexplainable context of the series, the finale may be just as indescribable.
Once again, @coldalbion reminds me I’m still a FNG at this and experience came long before I did and will be here long after I’m gone.
So. Fine. The damn memories are pricking at me anyway making me restless, like feathers poking out from under my skin. Continue reading “Feathers and Ash”
I wasn’t reaching for an answer. I wasn’t reaching for an acknowledgement. I wasn’t reaching for confirmation or a rebuttal or a rebuke or a reason. I just wanted to “stretch”. The only way to recover old skills long dormant is to use them again, after all. I had no expectation of actually doing anything.
What mattered is that I tried to do anything at all. Isn’t there a saying that “God will meet you halfway if you only but try.” ? Continue reading “Spirit Journal: 2017-04-19.01”
“That’s stupid! You’re stupid! This is all STUPID AS HECK!” The boy wrenched himself away from the man dragging him towards the brightly colored camp. He left his brightly hued head cloth in the furious man’s grip as he stuck his tongue out in disrespect and turned to run away. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-02-12.01”
Shit is getting to the point where all I’ll have to do is post the word “bitch”, and you’ll know that Keri/Weaver got her ass spiritually ganked and thrown in the spiritual boot again. Continue reading “Spiritual Journal: 2017-02-05.01”
The dream was weird from the start. Scenes joined together in the way oil and water homogenizes. Abrupt changes and jumps through devouring plot holes confused me and kept me from finding my intellectual footing. At a scene where my father does the impossible and acts in ways he would never do, I give up trying to secure lucidity and just go with the flow.
Aleister Crowley appears then to escort me away from my father, shocking me into full lucidity and prompting me to laugh deep incapacitating peals of laughter at the absurdity of this new scene. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-01-13.01”
Too wired to sleep, too tired to function, I concede victory to the late night hour and tell the indifferent walls that I’m going to bed now. After a few minutes of being utterly bored and restless, I concede victory to my worries and get up to walk around.
Oh look, Harlequin is holding session in an outdoor venue this time.
Wait. Continue reading “Dream: Division”
I usually avoid listening/watching recordings of rituals, because historically, such recordings make me feel… uncomfortable. Maybe I pick up on spiritual echoes that ring me like a tuning fork. Maybe the years of shit I have survived and intentionally forgotten resonate in the mental caverns where my fear lairs. Maybe my lack of self-esteem made me feel dirty for watching undoubtedly genuine experiences that I did not have a right to observe, even though they were released explicitly to be observed.
I took a risk, and listened to an audio recording of a specific ritual that was published explicitly to be listened to at minimum, and to participate along with as standard. (What the fuck is time to spirits, amirite?)
Spoiler: I came out okay. Invigorated, even. Continue reading “Journal: 2017-01-05.02”